Upon arrival into the port city of Cap Haitien, we travelled a short distance to our host's house for a quick lunch of eggs, banana, and papaya. Looking around the room we were in (which was strikingly similar to an unfinished basement one might find here in the States), I often noticed sets of eyes peering in through holes in the wall.

Many of them shouted "Blanc! Blanc!" Which literally means "White! White!". However, this is a term used for virtually anybody who isn't Haitian.) Others asked for a dollar or a Coke. But then another, the boy in this picture, just stood and stared.

His friends eventually grew tired or bored of watching the Blancs eat and sit uneasily, so they continued on down the alley. My group actually never even looked back to notice the audience that had quickly gathered. However, my nameless friend and I sat fixed on each other for several minutes...even shaking hands through that tiny hole at one point.

We spoke nary a word to one another. Nonetheless, if nothing else, we connected as two beings curious about what was on the other side of the wall. My friend was, no doubt, interested in observing and seeing what exactly these new visitors looked, acted, and sounded like. Perhaps I was interested in the mannerisms of my counterparts as well. But more than that, from the opposite side of the wall, I wanted to lose myself in a culture that already captured my heart and my imagination years earlier. However, for the time being, we let the wall protect us from the unknown.

I never saw my friend again after those brief minutes. I'm sure he had an interesting story to tell his friends for the remainder of that day.

I feel as if part of me is still behind that wall. Curious. Anxious. Wanting badly to run through the streets with a ball at my foot. Longing to sit in the shade with my neighbors and master the art of conversation--Creole style. Finding a community beyond my wall.